


Vanilla and Cinnamon

by sherlock221Bismymuse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF Mrs. Hudson, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mary makes a brief appearance - Freeform, Mrs. Hudson Ships It, One Shot, almost, it's Christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 06:19:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17198129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlock221Bismymuse/pseuds/sherlock221Bismymuse
Summary: ‘God, how I LOVE this city’, thought John Watson.His stomach dropped as he remembered that day at Bart’s when Sherlock had…..had been lost to him and the city had turned into a prison and he was trapped within his own heart, not able to let go of this man who he loved so much, more than his own life, but had never told him that.





	Vanilla and Cinnamon

It was one of those perfect evenings that you can get only in London.

The year was drawing to a close but the Christmas lights were not switched on yet. They had just wound up a difficult case and were leaving from Leicester Square having promised Lestrade they would drop by at the New Scotland Yard offices the next day for their statements.

It was 5 pm but already quite dark. The air had a slight chill in it which made you grateful for someone’s body warmth but not so cold that you missed your gloves.

Someone was busking and a small crowd had gathered around a street performer and they were laughing and clapping once in a while. Everyone was bathed in the yellow glow of street lamps. People cuddled and held hands and walked down the streets, looking both ways and crossing, sitting at the cafes and drinking coffee, ducking down to the subway entrance…..moving, smiling, talking, eating…..

‘God, how I LOVE this city’, thought John Watson.

His stomach dropped as he remembered that day at Bart’s when Sherlock had…..had been lost to him and the city had turned into a prison and he was trapped within his own heart, not able to let go of this man who he loved so much, more than his own life, but had never told him that.

Two years later, he had come back, ever the Drama Queen and interrupted John’s proposal to Mary. Which was good timing in a way because as soon as Sherlock came back into his life, however angry he may have been, there was simply no place for anyone else in it, as it had been before. Mary had been wonderful during those terrible years and he did love her. But he was not _in love_ with her.

Not in the heart-breaking and all-consuming way he was with..…someone else.

But John continued to live in the bedsit he had moved to two years ago, when he had been unable to even _look_ at the rooms at 221 B Baker Street-- bereft of his flatmate doing crazy experiments and playing the violin at all odd times of the day.

Whereas during those years the bedsit had been a depressing prison, almost feeling like an isolation cell, with the loaded gun heavy and ever present in the bedside drawer, it now felt like a refuge, a sanctuary, a safe space.

Where he could return after spending all day with Sherlock whenever there was a case.

A place where he did not have to hide his feelings and his expressions and his desires….afraid that the genius will see it all on his face, plain as the light of day. That he was thinking all the time of his best friend, dreaming of him even, debating, hoping, wondering, fearing…..

***************************************

Sherlock was walking next to him all this time, apparently also in deep thought, when he stopped abruptly, turned to him and said –‘John, do you want to catch a movie?’

John Watson froze on the spot. What had he just heard Sherlock say?? He looked up to him to see if he was joking or trying some _thought experiment_ on him, but he found only a questioning look.

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders, as if to say simultaneously ‘ _What_?’ and ‘ _Don’t make me repeat_ ’ and ‘ _SO, do you want to or not_??’

‘Yes, yes, sure!’ John said, feeling a bit dazed. ‘In fact there is a brilliant mystery that you would like. Murder on the Orient Express. It’s based on an Agatha Christie novel. ‘

‘Hmm’, said Sherlock, ‘and who is Agatha Christie?’

‘Jesus, Sherlock’, John laughed,’ you are just impossible!! Never mind that now, come let’s get our tickets.’

He pulled on Sherlock’s coat sleeve and dragged him into the nearest theatre before the taller man could change his mercurial mind.

After tickets they bought popcorn and John almost felt like he was going to skip up the aisles because he was so thrilled at the idea of doing this! Such a simple thing that ‘normal’ people did all the time, every day, but to have the genius Sherlock actually WANTING to see a movie and with HIM …….that just made it so special.

They sat through the movie without too much trauma to others around them although Sherlock’s non- stop mutterings and attempted deductions did drive away a few people sitting next to them. As always Sherlock had disdainfully refused popcorn for himself and then constantly kept dipping into John’s tub and eating from it. And as always John did not mind it at all….

As the murder was almost solved on screen, Sherlock suddenly stood up clutching his hair---‘Oh COME ON!!! You didn’t give us enough clues to allow us a fair attempt at deduction!’

He turned around --‘John! We are leaving’.

John sighed, stood up and followed Sherlock out. It had been too much that they had managed to sit through almost the entire movie already.

When they stepped out it was much colder now and John stood outside stamping his feet and rubbing his hands, knowing better than to attempt a conversation when Sherlock was already cranky. Sherlock turned to him, the collar of his coat turned up, highlighting his beautiful cheekbones, his curly hair framing that beloved face, with the lights shining behind them making almost like a halo, the deep purple shirt enhancing his pale skin.

John caught his breath, tilted his head and just stared.

‘’John? JOHN?? ‘

‘Yes, WHAT? Jesus, don’t yell!”

‘I asked you TWICE if you want to have dinner at Angelo’s? ’

‘Yes sure, I _am_ a bit hungry’ he said, looking sheepish, knowing he had just eaten a tub of popcorn but hey that was almost 2 hours ago….

Sherlock walked to the curb, hailing a cab in his usual magical way and they went to Angelo’s and had a delicious dinner, with the usual candle on the table, wine and everything. Angelo smiled at them and even gave John a wink as he filled his wine glass for him. Sherlock did not eat much but he did eat enough to keep John happy, and he told John some stories of cases from before his time and stories from his childhood about Mycroft and how he had gotten the better of him on a few rare occasions.

John simply sat and basked in that storytelling, thrilled to every fibre of his being that this gorgeous, wonderful, brilliant man was back and ALIVE and would choose to spend time with him, of all the people on this planet and would share his childhood and his memories…….( _and his heart ??…and his life??_....) but he hushed those whispers in his brain and carried on listening to Sherlock.

After a particularly hilarious story involving Mycroft and a fake pie, he laughed till his sides ached and then finally they got up to go home. He left some money on the table since Angelo would never give them a bill.

Sherlock again conjured up a taxi with a wave of his hand and in a minute they were in the back of one, tucked away out of the cold night.

‘221 B Baker Street’ Sherlock told the driver. .

.

.

 

John sighed and leaned back against the seat, so full of food and wine and happy thoughts and feeling almost like he was glowing, that he completely forgot he no longer lived at Baker Street.

He turned sideways just a little bit, gently, to take a look at his flatmate, his partner, his best friend……….his……he dismissed the thought even before it could take shape.

This was enough. This was already too much.

.

.

He thought back to the broken man who had returned to a grey London after the Afghanistan war, lost, wounded, helpless, and with no friends, no job, no money and he wanted to be able to go back to that man and tell him-- _Don’t worry. It’s going to be fine. You will meet a man, an eccentric genius who is absolutely mad, who will take over your life and become the sun, moon and stars and your days will be filled with things you never dreamed of. Eyeballs in teacups, human fingers in the fridge, chasing bad people down the alleys at 2 am yes, but also a violin that will bring you back to life when you have a nightmare, that will make your heart want to dance when the player is in a happy mood and that will make you want to weep when the player is upset. There will be smiles, nods, a finishing of each other’s sentences, a reading of thoughts, affection, sometimes laughter…….and even joy_.

And just like that, without any conscious thought, his hand which was resting on the seat, tentatively moved a bit and was now touching Sherlock’s hand. Barely so. Like a whisper. But as soon as he felt Sherlock’s skin, a jolt of electricity seemed to go through him and John froze.

Waited for a split second for his best friend to pull away and admonish him. Felt the dread chill in his heart that the evening which had been so beautiful was now spoilt.

To his utter astonishment, Sherlock merely moved his own little finger to come closer, slowly, gently and actually kind of twisted it around John’s.

 _WHAT was happening?!_ John’s brain was stuttering. _Was he still breathing? Was he awake? Was this real?_

He barely noticed that Sherlock had taken out his phone with his other hand, and was sending a text message, then tapping on the driver’s glass and telling him to pull over.

‘Let’s walk’, he said and slid out of the cab.

John paid and followed him, mind still reeling from what had happened in the taxi. They walked down one block, no longer touching, not talking, both wrapped up in their coats and their thoughts.

When they reached 221 B after ten minutes, Sherlock opened the door, went in and held it open for John. When John stepped in he saw Sherlock was now leaning against the wall, one leg folded up, his arms crossed.

‘So, John’ he said, in a deep slow voice (that always thrilled John to his very toes), ‘I took you to the movies and then for dinner. Does that make this a date?’

‘What the …. ??’ thought John, the shock plain on his face. Then his eyes narrowed.

_Was Sherlock playing some elaborate game? Was this an experiment?_

‘Sher…’he started to say when he was interrupted.

“John….”Sherlock looked at him, and then looked away. John had never seen him not make blazing eye contact which seemed to drill holes into his very soul.

Sherlock was hesitating? Sherlock was not supremely confident? Sherlock was breaking eye contact?? What was going on??!

Wait, Sherlock was speaking.

“Is this the point during your dates with all those women……… that you kiss them….. and then they …….they ask you to come upstairs?’

John just stood there, having heard only the word kiss in this entire sentence, unable to look anywhere else but at Sherlock’s lips now, a soft glow from the street lamp making them shine. The wine and laughter and the brief touch of their fingers had cracked open up the pent up desires of so many years (too many years, far too many years….) that he simply moved a step closer without thinking.

And to his shock, Sherlock closed the gap, bent his head down and oh my heavens, sweet JESUS, he kissed him on the lips.

John‘s brain swam with the sensation of the touch, the smells of everything swirling around him. The breath smelling of wine and mint, the sweat, the cigarette smoke, the ridiculously expensive shampoo Sherlock used.

John took a deep breath, and finally, finally kissed him back, putting his arms around his neck, putting his fingers through Sherlock’s soft gorgeous curls.

This beautiful _, beautiful_ , impossible man was kissing HIM?? Was this a dream?

What was this kiss that made his toes curl and knees go weak and those soft lips, oh that cool skin and Sherlock’s strong hands, those long fingers holding his face oh so gently……….it was all too much. _Was he going to faint like a Victorian damsel?!_

He pulled away, breathless, and Sherlock said in his ear, hot breath on his neck, “Come John”, and took his hand and they were climbing up the stairs, John still in a daze.

Sherlock opened the door and for some magical and mad reason the living room was full of candles, warm with a heavenly yellow glow.

The tall man stepped in and still holding John’s hand said –‘Do you want to come home John? To me? ’.

And as John stepped over the threshold, to this home which was home because Sherlock was in it, he felt like he needed to say ‘I do’.

And suddenly his brain snapped awake. This felt perfect. This was what was missing from his life. He knew he loved Sherlock but he would never in a lifetime have dreamt that Sherlock loved him back. He would never have dared ask for fear of rejection and spoiling what they already had.

But Sherlock? _How long had he felt that way?_ Thank goodness he had been mad enough and brave enough to do this. _Oh how much time they had already wasted!!_

John groaned at that and looked up, into those beloved eyes and stood up straight and took command.

Captain John Watson shrugged off his own coat, tugged off Sherlock’s and almost pushed him on to the sofa. He toed off his own shoes and straddled the taller man and clutched his purple silk shirt at his throat and proceeded to kiss him till they were both gasping for breath and their lips were swollen and red. It was a passionate and heady kiss and he could have stayed there forever……but now they needed to move to the bedroom……. to explore each other some more and love each other some more and share every part of their bodies as they already did with their lives and their hearts.

.

.

The next morning John woke up first, slowly remembering, relishing every sensation of being tangled in the sheets, almost trapped inside the limbs and embrace of his mad flatmate, his best friend…….his lover.

He was so full of joy he felt as though his heart would burst into flames. He looked down at Sherlock sleeping so peacefully, half on him, half outside the sheets and gently swept way some curls from his closed eyes, kissed him softly on his lips, rolled himself out from underneath him and went to the kitchen to make some tea.

He found a plate of freshly baked vanilla-cinnamon swirl cupcakes on the table and a note from Mrs Hudson. It just had a simple heart drawn on it.

As he was looking at it, smiling, Sherlock padded out, wrapped in a sheet and leaned in behind him sleepily, almost purring into his back. John turned to him, lifted the note with the heart and a question on his face.

 _‘Yes, she knew what I was planning’_ said the genius detective.’ _I didn’t know who else to ask. After I came back from …..being away, and saw you, in that instant I knew how I felt about you and I never wanted to leave you again and never wanted you to be away from me. Ever. The only thing that kept me alive during those two years away was that I needed to see you again. I never dared hope that you would feel the same way for me but I knew that I simply could not, would not, leave this life without telling you that at least once._

_Finally I went to see Mrs Hudson last month. I didn’t know how to ask, or what to say but she just saw my face and deduced it correctly. She said ---All you need is love. And courage._

_So, I was just waiting for the right moment._

_Last evening was so wonderful. I could not remember when I had enjoyed myself so much with anyone in my entire life. I saw you holding your sides and laughing and suddenly I saw us both, old and grey sitting by a fireplace, talking and laughing, you eating of course (roll of eyes) and I wanted nothing more from this entire universe than to make that happen. When you touched me in the cab last night, I thought I heard the stars sing and the ground rocked beneath my feet. And I decided not to wait a single minute more._

_Mrs Hudson was the one I texted from the cab last night. That is why I made us walk, to give her time. She lit the candles and then probably came up late last night and blew them out also_.”

.

.

John listened to all this, feeling as though his heart would burst from its ribcage and dance on the streets, doing cartwheels and wildly shouting out to the whole world the love he felt for this man. This genius who strode through London and the world, not caring for anything but his brilliant deductions and crime and puzzles, this brave man who had been willing to die to save his life, this amazing man who had spent so much time thinking and planning and wooing him and loving him.

What could he say to him that would come even close to how he felt about him? How he was gravity and starlight and electricity and sunshine? How he held together the very atoms in John’s body by his simple existence and made them sing? How he had woven himself into the very fabric of his being till he could no longer imagine living apart than he could survive with his heart outside his body?

John smiled at him and simply said ‘ _I love you too!_ ’ and kissed him gently, softly, and the world slowly spun away round them.

**Epilogue:**

_Many, many years later, when they were both old and grey and long retired, John always remembered this date and they always spend that evening with candles and he baked them vanilla- cinnamon swirl cupcakes which to him was then and forever the aroma of love fulfilled._

_A reminder of the two of them in a way._

_John, plain simple vanilla but completely addictive and Sherlock the exotic mesmerizing cinnamon which left you wanting more. But in the end, it was the combination of the two that was the perfect balance and quite irresistible…..._

_And he always drew a heart on a small card and put it in his diary as a thank you to and a reminder of Mrs Hudson, (Not Their Housekeeper), who had always known their hearts before they ever knew their own._

**Author's Note:**

> I found this in an old folder as I was sorting out WIPs and getting ready for the new year :)  
> As you can see I wrote it when Murder on the Orient Express was released! Hope you enjoy it!  
> Do drop a line if you do and have yourselves a wonderful new year full of love --from someone else if it works out and from your own self in any case!!


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